


You Were the First One, You Were the Last One

by SegaBarrett



Category: Bates Motel (2013)
Genre: Angst, Death, Everything Hurts, F/M, General sad, Kissing Siblings, Referenced Incest, Slightly AU for 4x3, TW Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 12:37:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10190051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: Caleb reflects in the Bates' cellar.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Bates and I make no money from this.
> 
> A/N: Title from "Video Killed the Radio Star" by the Buggles. 
> 
> Also A/N: I wrote the majority of this before 4x3, so similar time line but a little different.

When Norma was thirteen years old, she wore her hair in one long braid.

Caleb used to tie a ribbon at the bottom of her braid and watch as it swung back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

He was seventeen, tall and gawky and without the muscles that filled him out so many years later. 

And he was sure that he was in love.

***

The first thought that comes to him is that he must have been smashed in the head with a hammer; that’s the only thing that could hurt this bad.

The room is spinning, and everything is ringing, and everything hurts. 

He must have bit his lip at some point, though he isn’t sure when. It’s cold, wherever this is, cold and yet way too hot at the same time.

Maybe he’s opened his eyes and found himself in hell. It’s not impossible.

“Norma Louise,” he whispers, the first plea that enters his mind. 

It’s all flooding back to him as his wrist brushes against the floor. It’s cold; frozen solid maybe. 

Some kind of basement. How did he get down here? 

Something’s eyes are staring at him. A bird; why…?

He arches forward and throws up, doubling over as his head keeps swimming and throbbing. 

Norman’s basement. He remembers it now. 

He needs to get out of here. 

Caleb wipes his lips with the sleeve of his shirt and tries, with great effort, to stand up. 

He needs to stop getting hit in the head. This can’t be good for him. Not that it matters right now; Norman had tried to kill him before. And Chick is here, too. Apart, Caleb could take them easily. Together…? He isn’t sure, especially when standing up straight is hurting so badly. He is a sitting duck.

As he slowly turns around, he catches a glimpse of Norma, frozen, in the corner.

He reels back and throws up again. 

How could he do this to Norma? He had killed her, and then preserved her – who could do that? It seems… seems like some kind of ultimate violation. Norma is completely helpless against… against anything.

Caleb rubs at his eyes, trying to make the images focus. He notices, now, just how dark the room is. The only thing he can see for sure is Norma… or whatever is left of her.

He wishes he could avert his gaze, but he can’t stop staring. She seems frozen – literally – in time. It hasn’t been so long since he talked to her, has it? 

Why hadn’t he asked the man at the motel when this had happened, exactly? How long has she been gone? Why hadn’t he called and, more than that, why hadn’t Dylan known about her dying? He and Emma seemed happy in their life together – had they had one fight too many with Norma and never looked back? 

But who could write up her death without bothering to tell her older son?

It’s too much going on at once, and Caleb is feeling nauseous all over again. 

Maybe he should just lay down… Maybe he should just…

No. He needs to fight. He needs to…

Caleb closes his eyes and falls to the floor.

***

When Norma was thirteen years old, she told Caleb that he was her favorite person in the entire world.

Blue eyes full of wonder, struggling to be happy even when everything was falling apart around her; around them. 

They made plans for all of the ways that they would run away. The places they would find themselves, and each other.

She found joy in tiny things – in ladybugs and pool floats and soft blankets – and Caleb found joy in watching her.

He was seventeen and gawky and unable to figure out the language that the rest of the human race seemed to be speaking. He was freckled and awkward and tripped over legs that were too long and feet that were too wide.

She looked at him as if he could do no wrong.

***

It’s so cold in this basement; freezing, really. Surrounded by taxidermized animals and tools that Caleb doesn’t recognize or understand, but certainly fears. 

He is an open wound. Every sound, every touch, every vibration sends him into near-hysterics. He needs to focus but finds himself so disoriented that it’s impossible.

Norman brings down food once a day; sometimes, instead, it is Chick who comes. 

It’s never enough for him to fully break out of the haze. 

Sometimes he wonders if he has died already and if this is simply his brain shutting down and coming to grips with the reality of being gone forever.

He wonders what the last thing Norma thought, was. He hopes it was something nice.

***

When Norma Louise was thirteen years old, she was in eighth grade, and Caleb was a junior in high school.

Caleb used to sit at the back of his classes, doodling on his desk and counting away the minutes until he would be free.

In Math, he took home C’s. His English papers came back with enough red pen that he wasn’t sure he hadn’t accidentally bled on it. In Social Studies he’d gotten thrown out of class more than once for flipping ahead to sneak peeks at illustrations of warships instead of listening to the teacher drone on about the Explorers for the hundredth time. 

The only subject that didn’t make him want to bash his face into his desk was Wood Shop. Despite the fact that he was swiftly developing a quickness and strength that surpassed his classmates’, gym class remained a massive social cluster that he was unable to navigate, always seemingly too slow or too confused or just, eternally, too wrong to chime in with the expected passwords and cues.

The only thing that kept him awake and alive was the promise that when he got home, Norma would be there too. She would be smiling and waiting and with Norma, it seemed, he always knew what to say.

***

He wishes he were back in the locked room, feeling Norma’s head on his shoulder and shutting his own eyes. It had been cold then, too; they had had their heat shut off regularly. 

“Norma Louise.” 

He wishes that she’ll come to him, and she does. 

It’s in the guise of Norman, and part of Caleb understands, but everything is dizzy and hurting and he feels so weak that he just wants to give up. But he can’t go without Norma coming with him.

It’s so quiet, and he wishes that it would stop. He can hear himself breathe and he hates the sound of it. 

“Norma Louise,” he says again, and now he’s got his arms wrapped around her and he’s not sure if it’s the frozen Norma or the Norman Norma but right now he doesn’t care, not anymore.

***

When Norma was thirteen years old, she and Caleb kissed for the first time.

It was an experiment, almost, something Caleb was tossing through his brain like it didn’t entirely make sense but made perfect sense at the same time. And he was nervous and gawky and awkward and tumbling and she kissed him back.

***

Caleb presses his lips against Norma’s and breathes in, closing his eyes.

He can hear a “pop” vibrate through the room, but his mind is far away.

His heart is what is left behind.


End file.
